A/N: All words in italics are the characters speaking. The words written in regular type are the parts of the "story". Enjoy reading and please review. You can even call it horrible if you want.


Once upon a time, there were three little pickles. And they all lived happily in a small town on the outskirts of a town far, far away. One day, the pickles decided to take a walk. On their walk they came across a hungry cow. The cow looked at the pickles for a long, long time before mooing and walking off. The pickles all let out a deep breath. They had thought they were going to be eaten. But then the youngest pickle, Dill, became offended and yelled after the cow, "What?! Me and my brothers aren't good enough for your royal cowship to eat?!". Of course, the cow didn't hear him.

Um, what in the world is that?

It's our story.

That is absolutely nothing like our story. Weโ€”

Can I try again?

Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out.

Okay, presenting Oxyclean! Today you can order it for the special low, low price ofโ€”

Why Oxyclean? Our story has nothing to do with Oxyclean.

Hello, we're pickles and our juice stains clothes.

No, it doesn't.

I'm trying to sell a product, here. And so it does to.

Can you just get on with the story?

Fine.

"Good morning, Charlie," said the three Charlie's Pickles.

"Good morning, Pickles," replied Charlie from his radio box thingy.

Charlie's Pickles and radio box thingy?!

Do you want me to tell the story or not?

Just get on with it. The real story.

Yo, yo, yo. P-Sizzle in the hiz 'ouse. Now this is pickle story. I'm rapping 'cause I'm tryin' not to bore ya. There once were three little pickle bros. They wuz all lined up in a straight little row. One pickle fell down and broke his crown and it ain't gonna rain tomorrow.

What was that?

Rap.

I don't think so. I mean, even Dr. Seuss could do better.

But I tried.

Well, try again.

How about pop? Can I try that genre?

If you think you can.

'Cause this is a pick-le, pick-le night! And no one's gonna save you from the food that's about to strike. You know, it's a pick-le, pick-le night! You're fighting your hunger on this pick-le night!

That was just plain weird.

Can weird be plain?

Will you please just stop being smart or stupid and get on with the actual story?

Then I'm gonna try country music.

Why?

They have the best stories.

Whatever. Just hurry up.

Right now, he's probably in the grocery store taking a jar of pickles off of the clearance shelf. Right now, he's probably paying at the register thinkin' to himself, "I wish I had a beer.". Right now, he probably walkin' to his car, but he don't know....that I threw the ketchup outta the house and I wrecked his girlfriend's new blouse. I ran around in circles acting all cra-aa-zy. But that's what he gets for being mean to me. Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

You just totally ruined that song for me.

Nuh-uh, it was a Carrie Underwood song. So, therefore, it cannot ever be completely ruined.

Well, I'll never think of it the same way again. That's for sure.

Why not?

Because you twisted a song about love and lies and revenge into a song aboutโ€”

Love and lies and revenge....with pickles.

Well, I like Carrie's version better.

I think everyone likes Carrie's version better.

Why are you guys talking about Carrie Underwood? She is not relevant to this story in any way.

Sorry, Devon.

Yeah, sorry. We just got carried away. Dill, finish your story. And this time make sure it's your story.

You got it, Dave.

Hut, hut, hike! He passes the ball. It's flying overhead. Is he gonna catch it? It's falling, falling, and....he caught it! Touchdown! Titans win! And the crowd goes wild! Yaaahhhhh!

And that was football. Why can't you just tell the story without mucking it up?

I'm just trying to find what I'm good at. You know, mom always said that I was the talented one.

Apparently, she didn't mean in telling stories.

Hey!

Just get on with it....before I die, please.

Okay, okay....but do you think if I went on Star Search they could tell me what I'm good at? I'm mean, they helped Britney Spears. And the host seems like a nice guy.

I think they cancelled Star Search a long time ago. Besides, since you're so fond of singing, maybe you should try out for American Idol.

Nah, that show went downhill after Carrie won.

True, true. But.....hey, you're supposed to be telling the story!

Fine.

It was a dark and gloomy night and there were three dark figures huddled in the far corner of the hut. They were whispering, but anyone listening couldn't hear a thing. Ten minutes passed without the scene changing, but then someone opened the front door. The three huddled masses rose and shouted, "Surprise! Happy birthday!". The end.

I give up. You can't tell our story.

Then you tell it, Dave.

No.

Devon?

Nuh-uh.

Ugh, will someone please tell the story?

I will.

Who are you?

My name is Bill.

You're a rock.

And you guys are pickles. I won't tell the story if you can't agree to be nice to me.

We'll be nice! Just please, tell the story.

Okay, then.

It was a rainy evening. And there was a man. A man who lived alone. He was kind of a shut-in. Almost never leaving his house. The townspeople mocked him for his genius. They just didn't understand. He decided that night to perform an experiment. He shoved a metal fork into an electrical outlet. Of course, he got shocked badly and had to go to the hospital. But as soon as he left, the pickle that was on his plate for dinner suddenly came to life! The pickle, it was Dill, was curious and went to inspect the fork. And he got shocked as well. So his pickle brothers, Devon and Dave, picked him up and stuck him in the refrigerator to heal. But he didn't and when the man came back home, he found a fried pickle. The first of it's kind. And he then patented the product and became very rich.

Thank you!

No problem. Call me if you ever need my services again. Remember, my name is Bill.

The end........